


Christmas Kitties

by dragonofdispair



Series: Whiskers on Kittens [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cats, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Fluff, Other, Platonic Relationships, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: The two kitty chapters from theChristmas Cookiesstories, reposted for convenience.





	1. December Tenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: MY MOM KNITTED YOU A JUMPER.

Jazz tilted his head and regarded the house at the end of the driveway. Absently he scratched his ear. He didn’t have fleas. It was too cold for fleas, and The Hands had worked some magic so he didn’t get fleas anymore anyway, but he vividly remembered the bity, itchy, owwy feeling of having them.

The House was still the House, of course. It had all the right scents, even muffled and buried in snow as they were. His own markings on the outer walls, the unique scent of The Hands, the other cats, even the dog in the yard. A landscape of scent that said safety and warmth. Food and pettings. Strings to chase and crumpled paper to pounce.

Not that Jazz ever attacked the toys The Hands left all over the ground for the cats. Those other fluff-fluffs had never been outside in the cold and the snow, or had to hunt for a single meal in their lives so they pounced on whatever skittered by. Jazz had some dignity though. If he couldn’t eat it, he wasn’t going to bother playing with it.

The House had changed though. As the snow had come, The House had gotten some weird scents. Pine and melted wax and other odd, odd things that Jazz wasn’t sure he liked. And the lights. Where had all those little blinky fireflies come from? Only they weren’t fireflies. Jazz knew what fireflies tasted like and those yucky things might glow like bugs, but they weren’t edible.

Jazz didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all.

But The House was The House, and Jazz was wet and cold and he had mats in his fur and he’d gotten in a scuffle with another cat yesterday and the scratch hurt worse than fleas. He didn’t know what The Hands did with Jazz’s various scratches and other injuries, but after much incomprehensible cooing and uncomfortableness with a white thing that itched, they always healed more cleanly than they had before he’d come to The House. Summed up, he’d been away from The House too long.

Time to face the music.

Jazz picked up his prize and circled around back to where The Dog usually was. It wasn’t. It must be inside, out of the cold and wet and honestly Jazz couldn’t blame it. He and The Dog may not get along at all, but it’d only taken one swipe of claws across its nose to get the point across that Jazz was not a cat to be trifled with.

He went to the secret Dog-and-Jazz only opening in the back wall of The House. When The Hands had first put the collar on Jazz, he’d ditched it. He’d in fact, probably ditched a dozen of the heavy, itchy, noisy, annoying things, until he’d figured out that it was the collar that opened the secret opening and let him come and go without having to scratch at the door, undignified, until The Hands opened it. So Jazz had learned to quiet the stupid jingle-jangles while he stalked and kept the collar and its magical ability to open the secret door.

Inside, Jazz immediately shivered, shaking off the snow and wet that had accumulated on his fur. He liked his fur. Silver tabby stripes, it was perfect for blending into every sort of shadow. But he liked his fur much better when it was clean and dry. He was tempted to sit right there on the doormat and clean off the wet, but there was something he needed to do first.

“PROWL!” he yowled around the gift he’d brought. “PROWL! I’M HERE! I’M HERE!”

No Prowl. That was odd. The older cat might be a fluff-fluff, but he was the unquestioned leader of the housecats. Jazz was a young lanky kitten with delusions of grandeur compared to the stately siamese. Jazz knew better than to enter The House without offering to lick out Prowl’s ears. But if Prowl wasn’t going to come…

He was probably busy with The Hands, Jazz reasoned. The Hands doted on the housecats, but the price was often not being able to squirm free whenever a cat needed to. Well if Prowl was with The Hands, he’d lick the other cat’s ears after he dropped off his gift and gone to see The Hands himself. The Hands’ doting was what Jazz had come for after all.

So first Jazz put down the gift so he could lick all the wet off his fur.

Forty minutes later, still no Prowl, and Jazz set off to find a place to put his gift.

He settled for one of the tall shoes by the door at the front of The House. It was perfect. Deep enough to be like burying the mouse -- and The Hands had better appreciate how difficult it was to catch a fresh mouse in this snow! -- for later, and few things in The House were as clearly scent-marked as belonging to The Hands as the shoes. The Dog and the other housecats would clearly understand that anything inside the shoe belonged to The Hands and not to them!

That done, Jazz set off to find The Hands for himself.

He passed The Dog, laying in front of the fireplace like the big lazy thing he was. Several cats were curled up there too, some even touching The Dog (Prowl wasn’t among them, so Jazz answered their tail-waving, ear-twitching greetings only absently and otherwise ignored the fluff-fluffs) but that was only natural. They were cats. 

For its part, the tabby-striped mastiff opened its beady eyes to look at Jazz as he passed. Jazz glared at it, fluffing his fur to warn it off. It only yawned, showing off its huge mouth and teeth, and went back to sleep. Smart dog.

Jazz finally found The Hands in the bedroom. Prowl was there too. There was something odd as he touched the dominant cat’s nose in greeting and offered to lick his ears, but he didn’t have time to sniff out what it was before The Hands grabbed him.

Of course Jazz yowled in protest! This was always so UNDIGNIFIED.

And THAT STUNG!

Jazz was exhausted from his protests and wiggling, but some undetermined time later, he was deposited on the bed next to Prowl. His paw was covered now in the itchy white thing that made the scratch stop hurting. The Hands scurried off to do whatever it did when it wasn’t harassing poor cats to death. Jazz resumed his interrupted greeting

He touched noses to Prowl. Exchanged scents. “Heya. Want me to lick your ears?”

“Hello,” Prowl said back with a low, mournful meow. Jazz would never understand why siamese like Prowl felt the need to meow along with every word, but Prowl was in charge so Jazz didn’t criticize. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry fer what?”

The Hands returned just then, grabbing Jazz again. Reflexively he dug his claws into bed, but The Hands did something with its hands, cooing incomprehensibly all the while, and forced Jazz to let go.

UNDIGNIFIED!

Several minutes of hissing, clawing, squirming and cooing later, Jazz was once again deposited on the bed. He now had an itchy, too-warm covering on most of his body and HE DID NOT LIKE THIS!

“I would have warned you,” Prowl meowed. “Apparently it thinks we’re cold, because we’re shorthairs.”

Jazz scratched at the neckline of the thing, but it was bulkier than the collars and far too snug for that sort of thing. All he accomplished was getting his back claws stuck in it. The Hands gently released the tangled foot, clucking like a bird the whole time.

“What is this thing?” Jazz hissed. He tried fluffing up his fur, only to find it was being held down by the itchy thing. He tried to lick it away, like he would a burr, but his tongue got caught on it! WHY DID THE HANDS TORTURE HIM LIKE THIS?

“Some sort of blanket,” Prowl meowed. “It’s not bad once you get used to it. The Hands made it out of yarn, I think.”

Jazz remembered yarn. He would deny forever and ever ever stooping to playing with the yarn, but he recognized the nasty taste of the blanket thing as the same as the yarn. Bleh. His continued protests didn’t elicit anything like sympathy from The Hands. In fact Jazz thought it was laughing at him! See if he brought it any mice ever again!

Eventually Jazz slunk over to Prowl. He didn’t need to slink, but he couldn’t help it! The blanket-thing pushed down on the fur of his spine and made it feel like he was crawling through a space too small for him. Undignified. Daintily he sniffed Prowl’s blanket-thing and yep. It was made from the same itchy, scratchy yarn and was a nasty horrible color. There was no way they could hunt in these! Sure Prowl didn’t hunt, but it was the principle of the thing! 

Prowl for once patiently endured Jazz’s sniffing, and didn’t even say anything when Jazz got his tongue stuck on Prowl’s blanket thing. Jazz sniffed disdainfully, and cuddled close to the dominant cat. Prowl, never the most touchy-feely cat in The House, tolerated this with a huff that said quite plainly that it was only because Jazz was suffering that he was deigning to cuddle. Which of course was only natural.

A moment later, Prowl meowed, “My ears itch.”

Jazz’s fur fluffed -- tried to fluff, stupid ugly blanket thing; Jazz’s ears briefly went back in complaint -- in pleasure. Without a word he licked the other cat’s ears, purring happily.


	2. December Twenty-Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: There’s a storm and OMG! I’m losing signal. Are you okay?? Hold on let me drive 489,432 miles to get you the night before Christmas.

Prowl didn’t understand humans. Oh he loved The Hands, but as far as he was concerned humans were just plain weird. Definitely not like cats. Not everybody could be perfect (like Prowl), after all.

At least being in heat didn’t make The Hands irritable and dangerous to approach like it did female cats. It made the human want to cuddle the cats, but only a bit more usual so it wasn’t that great a hardship. And Jazz had shown him how to ditch the itchy blanket thing, so as far as Prowl was concerned life was good, even if The Hands was being stubborn and not going out to yowl for mate like she so obviously wanted.

Shrill beeping things was something Prowl did not understand, nor did he like them. So when the pocket-thing went off right under him, Prowl… well he jumped gracefully down and glared at The Hands for letting a shrill beepy thing interrupt his petting time!

The Hands ignored him to stand up and meow at the beepy thing. How rude.

Well if she was going to be that way, Prowl didn’t need her attention. He looked for something else to do and found a pen. A pen! On the floor!

It was the best thing ever! 

Prowl pounced it and it went skittering across the floor. Prowl chased it and it skittered more. 

“Come back here!” he meowed at it. The pen, of course, didn’t listen. Which is why Prowl had to chase it more. 

Of course Prowl wasn’t listening to The Hands while he did this. Everything she meowed was incomprehensible anyway. But when she meowed “... yeah, that sounds like Jazz… “ at the beepy thing, Prowl did stop chasing the pen to listen as best he could. Jazz? “Awww… Prowl stopped playing as soon as I said Jazz’s name. Do you mind if I bring him to pick Jazz up?” A pause. “Yeah I’m sure. They’re pairbonded. Prowl won’t hurt him, and he’s just going to sulk until he sees his scrappy little friend again. Sure. Lemme just grab a pen…” Prowl yowled loudly in protest when she bent down and scooped up his pen off the floor, but she ignored him. “Yeah that was him. I just took his pen. What’s the address? Unhuh… Thanks. And thank you for looking after him. Merry Christmas.”

She returned the shrill beepy thing to her pocket. Prowl jumped up on the chair. “Jazz?” he meowed. It was one of the meows he knew she did understand and he wanted to know why she was meowing Jazz’s name into the beepy thing!

“Yeah. Jazz. Seems like the poor baby got into a bit of trouble.” The Hands was doing her going-outside grooming. She pulled on an itchy blanket thing, then a dead-animal blanket thing, and then did her going outside foot grooming. Prowl meowed again. “Yes you’re going, you little pest. Just let me finish getting my shoes on.”

A few minutes later. “Okay, Prowl, you know the going outside routine. Gotta wear your leash. Jazz is going to need the carrier.”

All Prowl understood was “leash”, “Jazz” and “carrier” but he was very well-versed with both. Unlike Jazz, who could come and go from the magic door the Dog used, Prowl was only allowed outside when he was tethered to The Hands with the leash. Jazz, though, refused to have anything to do with the leash, so if they were going to go to wherever he was and bring him back in the car, he was going to have to be put in the carrier.

What Prowl did not expect was for The Hands pull out THE BLANKET THING and pull it over Prowl’s head. He yowled. I THOUGHT I GOT RID OF THAT!

“Stop protesting,” The Hands scolded, to no effect of course. Prowl wasn’t going to stop protesting this indignity. EVER. “It’s fucking storming outside. Thunder and lightning and hail. And cold. You’ll be glad to have the sweater while we’re waiting for the car to warm up.”

Whatever that meant it was irrelevant compared to how awful this horrible blanket thing was.

Stupid, fussy, horrible human. Obviously she just needed to get it over with and have a litter of kittens to fuss over because Prowl did not have to put up with this. 

But she didn’t let him escape to go ditch the itchy blanket thing; before Prowl knew it, he was tethered up in the straps of the leash and The Hands was slinging the carrier over her shoulder and scooping Prowl into her arms, tucking him with her under the dead blanket thing. “Stop meowing like that.” Prowl did not stop meowing mournfully. “Alright. Time to go get Jazz.”

The Hands opened the door and Prowl hissed as he pulled his head inside the dead blanket thing. It was cold. And the sky was throwing rocks. Why was Jazz even outside in this!

Prowl stayed in the dead blanket thing with The Hands’ body heat as they got in the car. It was still cold, but at least there weren't rocks falling from the sky. She dumped the empty carrier into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. The car started growl-purring. “Come on. Warm up! We’ve got a cat to fetch.”

Prowl just ducked his head back into the dead blanket thing to keep his ears warm.

Until…

“Alright you,” The Hands opened up the dead blanket thing and pried Prowl away from her itchy blanket thing. Prowl hissed in protest and clung to her, but she did that thing with her hands that made him let go and shoved him onto the shelf in front of her. “On the dashboard. We need to get going. This is why you’re wearing a sweater, silly thing.”

It wasn’t as freezing, but the rocks were hitting the window and Prowl flattened his ears, meowing in protest. He usually liked being on the car’s big flat window sill, but this was very unpleasant. He couldn’t even see outside with all the rocks hitting it!

As the car kept purring, the window sill kept getting warmer though, and soon Prowl started watching the rocks hit the window and the stuff moving outside. It wasn’t like the rocks were hitting him anymore. It was pretty fascinating…

Eventually it got kinda boring though. So Prowl curled up on the warmest part of the shelf and went to sleep.

“What the hell was Jazz doing all the way out here, huh Prowl.”

Prowl couldn’t understand The Hands’ meowing, and she couldn’t understand anything except his meows, so he meowed back, just to show that he’d heard his and Jazz’s names.

When the car stopped and its purring ceased, there was, if anything, more rocks. And there was a scary peal of thunder just as The Hands picked him up. He hissed. THUNDER WAS SCARY!

“Just what I needed. Come on, Prowl, sweety. Time to get Jazz.” Prowl meowed again, at their names and settled enough for her to tuck him into the dead blanket thing with her. He’d be safe in here!

Another harrowing crash of thunder as they got out of the car had Prowl digging his claws through the yarn of The Hands’ blanket thing and right into her furless skin beneath. It was a single cussing/yowling-bound-together-by-claws creature that stumbled into the doors of the animal shelter, dragging an empty carrier along with it.

“That is it, furball! You are riding back with Jazz in the goddamn carrier!”

Prowl meowed at the sound of Jazz’s name.

“Miss?” Another human -- a male human -- came up to them just as The Hands got them untangled and dumped Prowl onto a yucky, smelly chair.

“Hi! Yeah!” She turned and showed teeth at the male human. Good for her! He was definitely interested in mating with her, but if she didn’t want to be mated with yet then it was nice of her to warn him off first. Every tomcat knew that you didn’t try touching a female cat until she was ready; it was a good way to lose an eye! “You’ve apparently got my stupid cat. My name’s Elita and we’re here to pick up Jazz.” The Hands glared down at Prowl, who was sniffing the chair where another tomcat had left a mark, “Don’t you dare spray that, furball.”

Prowl just meowed. He was totally going to spray this! How else was he going to tell this other tomcat how very wrong he was! 

“Mine’s Orion. I’m one of the vet techs here.” They touched paws in that bizarre human greeting. “Come on back and I’ll show him to you and tell you what happened.”

The Hands grabbed Prowl by the waist, before he could finish lining up his aim for a perfect mark, and hefted him like he was a sack of potatoes and Prowl yowled in protest at this indignity! 

He quieted when he smelled Jazz though. Everything smelled like cats and dogs and bleach and suffering, but he could smell Jazz! And there was something wrong with Jazz! He wiggled, using his back paw to brace against The Hands’ leg and squirmed out of her grip before she could tighten it. He hit the end of the leash and scratched his claws against the tile to get to Jazz. 

“Feisty.”

“He’s a siamese. Purebred.” The Hands was bragging about him, and usually that would be Prowl’s cue to go rub up against her legs to show how adorable he was so that they’d bring him to a female to mate, but Jazz was more important! “Won three shows so far. He’s understandably high strung. And he really is pairbonded to Jazz.”

“I know Siamese are social but… that’s still unusual for a pair of males that aren’t related.”

“I know right!” She scooped Prowl up and started carrying him again, much to his (vocal) displeasure. “I thought Prowl was going to kill Jazz when he jumped in the box with the wet little ball of cute I’d just pulled from the rain gutter, but Prowl just licked him clean and started purring. I hadn’t been planning on keeping a stray, but after that I couldn’t get rid of him.”

Fine, fine, fine.  **But where was Jazz!**

“Here,” the male human brought them into a room that smelled like more bleach and more yuck, but also like Jazz! “He’s just coming out of sedation, so he’ll be a bit groggy. It’s a good thing you had him microchipped. Ratchet -- the vet -- was threatening to take him home. You should put a collar on him, if he’s going to be an outside cat.”

“He usually does. I thought he’d stopped ditching it a while ago, but apparently not. Aww… hello sweetie. Poor Jazzy’s still sleepy, yes he is!” She put Prowl down next to the silver tabby cat laying in the nest of blankets in the box, and Prowl immediately head-bumped the younger cat.

Eyes that, like Prowl’s, had never faded from their kitten blue, blinked open. “Hey fluff-fluff.”

“Don’t call me that.” Prowl meowed, biting Jazz’s already tattered ear, just hard enough to sting. Immediately he licked it, to soothe the sting. He sniffed Jazz over. The tabby smelled heavily of strange humans and stinging wound-goop, and vet-yuck… especially his leg, which was covered from hip to paw with a strange, stiff, white thing. Prowl bumped it. It reminded him of the white things The Hands often put on Jazz when he came home after a fight, but it was hard. “What’s this?” he meowed. “Who’d you get in a fight with this time?”

“Not sure…” Jazz answered, purring miserably. “Don’t remember much.”

“Well we need to get this vet-yuck off your fur!” Prowl immediately started licking. Jazz's purr grew louder.

“Okay~” Jazz said with a sigh and fell back asleep. Poor kitten.

“...driver who hit him brought him in.” The male human was still meowing at The Hands, patiently waiting for the in-heat female to tell him it was time to mate. “It’ll be a while before he walks again, and he may never jump.”

“I understand. Let me get them in the carrier and I’ll write a check for the surgery. And thank you.”

Jazz was very, very asleep so Prowl looked at the two humans and yowled. “Just let him mate already!”

Both of the humans looked at him. The male laughed. “I don’t know what he’s saying, but he is saying it very insistently.”

The Hands showed her teeth. “Prowl is a very insistent cat. Bossy furball.” She blinked slowly.

Prowl blinked back. I love you too.

“Alright. Let get us all home. Merry Christmas, Orion!”

“Merry Christmas, Elita.”

.

.

.

Of course the first thing Jazz did when they got home was jump three feet in the air to get up on the bed. Cast and all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kings of the Castle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501491) by [Rizobact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact)




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